


Safe In Your Arms

by alabasterclouds



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Crying, Diapers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Infantilism, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sickfic, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alabasterclouds/pseuds/alabasterclouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel has been experiencing a lot of stress due to studying and working full-time at the firm. When she starts having accidents, she finds it hard to hide them from Mike. After all, she convinced him that she was okay enough to do this and to handle their relationship. But one night, when she gets sick, she can't hide her weakness from him anymore.</p><p>This contains non-sexual ageplay and infantilism. Consider yourself warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She knew that it was getting out of hand when she just about barely made it from the meeting about the Lorenson case to the bathroom.

Pulling down her tights, Rachel Zane cursed under her breath as she realized that her panties were going to be too wet to wear for the rest of the day. Well, it wasn't the first time she'd had to go commando, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, she guessed. The accidents, or as Rachel thought of them, mini-accidents, had started a month into the new semester at law school. Handling a 45-hour week (cut down from the usual 65-70 that normal paralegals and associates worked) and school would have been insane for anyone, but Rachel had sworn she could handle it. She'd said as much to Mike while they ate dinner the night before school started.

He'd shovelled food into his mouth with his usual appetite. "I don't think anyone, even you, can handle as much work as you're taking on for the firm and law school, Rachel," he'd said through a mouthful of potato. Rachel had frowned at him in disgust and refused to answer until he swallowed.

"Well, maybe you can't," she snarked, "but I don't think that you know what I can or can't handle, Mike. Come on. You're worrying over nothing."

He shrugged, but his blue eyes were full of concern, and she felt bad snapping at him. "Look, if it gets to be too much, I'll have to maybe slow down with my studies. I just want to get them out of the way so that I can move on with my career."

"I know you're driven, Rach. I just think that maybe this time you've bitten off more than you can chew. I'm just worried." His face had softened, then, and he reached across the table to take her hand. "I don't want you to have a breakdown or something. I just want you to be okay."

"I won't have a breakdown," she smiled. "And if I do, you have full permission to put me in the hospital or something until I come to my senses."

He'd laughed a little at that, and then they'd poured more wine, and it had all been fine, she'd thought, until she'd started to be unable to hold her bladder anymore.

It'd started with a sudden urge halfway through class or in a meeting with clients. It was always in a spot where she couldn't leave easily or at all. She'd end up desperately squirming by the end of the meeting or class, and trying not to show it, before she was able to bolt to the bathroom. By that time, it had been too late - she'd end up leaking a little, every time. Lately, it'd been worse. She'd actually almost full-on wet her pants today. The trickle had turned into a flow just as she'd dashed through the bathroom doors (which had to be on the other side of the office from the meeting room, naturally). Hence, her current predicament.

Well, thought Rachel tiredly, at least no one would know if she had to go commando today. She was wearing a long enough skirt and though commando with tights wasn't her favourite thing, it wasn't going to kill her, either. She also did all the laundry for her and Mike, so it's not like he'd notice wet panties or slacks (unfortunately, she'd started leaving wet spots on her pants, now). He usually was too busy catching up on work at home to pay attention to much else except dinner and the occasional sex, when they were both up for it and not too tired.

Which, Rachel thought ruefully, was few and far between these days. She balled up her panties in her hand and flushed the toilet briskly, disposing of them in the bathroom trash can beside the sink. The tights were uncomfortable, but it was already 6 o'clock, and she was due to go home in about half an hour. She could manage.

Rachel's face, in the mirror, showed pale and wan as she washed her hands. In truth, she was more tired than she wanted to admit. Keeping up with classwork, even though both Harvey and Louis had allowed her to do some of it during work hours, was exhausting, especially with her current caseload. Mike was so busy with his own caseload that he hadn't noticed that she wasn't talkative in the evenings - though he had noticed when dinner started to be takeout more often than not, and asked her what was going on. Usually she stopped off at the bodega below their apartment to pick up something for dinner. Usually she cooked a full meal. 

Rachel found her vision blurring as she finished washing her hands. She blinked, and a tear dotted the tasteful marble countertop. She didn't feel all that well tonight, either, if she really wanted to admit it. And with a 45-minute subway ride to go, plus trying to figure out dinner before Mike got home . . . what she really wanted to do was curl up in a ball on their bed and close her eyes against the pounding headache behind her temples. 

Maybe she was more overwhelmed than she thought.

Leaving the bathrooms, she managed to get back to her desk without anyone noticing, and decided she'd knock off work early today. If Harvey or Louis wanted to complain about half an hour, let them. She'd just come in half an hour early on Friday, then. Tomorrow was a full day of classes and she needed to write a paper tonight, as well.

The subway was delayed today - something about a water main break on the line three stops up - and they hadn't figured out an alternate route by the time Rachel joined the throng. She sipped on a bottle of water, noticing for the first time how scratchy her throat was, and waited another half an hour for the crush in the subway to clear. At least she managed to snag a seat on the subway, and even dozed a little, her purse clutched tightly under her arms, for most of the ride home.

It was close to 8 pm by the time she got off the subway, and the spring sun was just starting to sink below the horizon. The light was thickening, but the air was sweet, and she didn't mind the 15-minute walk home. Mike might even be home, she thought happily, and that meant he would have taken care of dinner. She almost felt totally normal, except for the nagging headache and the uncomfortable feeling that she had leaked again between her thighs.

But the lights were off in the third-floor walkup, and she turned wearily to the bodega, looking past the rows of fresh fruits and vegetables to the very back of the little store. Spicy chicken soup. That's what she wanted. Grabbing two tubs of it, she also purchased a baguette by the cash and quickly paid. With the leftover salad they had from last night, it should be a decent enough, yet comforting, meal.

The smell of the soup warming up calmed Rachel. The pretty apartment had been Mike's grandmother's (well, he'd bought it for her - unfortunately, she'd never gotten to live there, passing away before she could move in), and between the two of them, they'd made it their own. Most of the design was Rachel's, but Mike had added his touch here and there. She shed her heels as she made her way to the bedroom, rubbing a foot up and down her leg and yawning as she scrabbled through her pajama drawer. Coming up with her softest, oldest cotton PJs, she quickly undressed.

She had wet again, noticing the slight wet spot on the back of her heavy wool skirt and feeling grateful that it hadn't leaked onto the outside so that everyone could see. Rachel made a face and not for the first time, wondered why she continually seemed to be damp these days. Could it be some kind of bladder infection? She hadn't even felt it this time.

Walking into the adjoining bathroom, she sorted through the cabinet until she found an old package of maxi pads at the back. She almost never used them, preferring tampons, but desperate times, she thought.

As she finished dressing, the maxi pad feeling awkward and bulky between her legs, she heard the front door open and Mike come in. His heavy briefcase hit the foyer floor as he called out, "Honey, I'm home!" in a parody of '50s dads, the way he always did. She grinned and came out of the bedroom to meet him.

"Something smells good," he murmured, kissing the top of her head and then her lips as she snuggled up to him. He always smelled so good - like cologne and shampoo and his own fresh scent. He cuddled her for a moment and then gently tipped her face up so that he could look into her eyes. "How was your day?"

"Long," said Rachel without enthusiasm. "I had three client meetings today and that Lorenson brief is getting ridiculous. I could barely concentrate."

"That's unlike you," he said, shedding his suit jacket and kicking off his shoes. "Maybe you should go to bed early tonight. You've been putting in some long days."

Rachel nodded, wincing at the way her headache pounded more harshly as she did. Mike didn't miss the look on her face. He came over, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, and put his arms around her again. 

"You okay?" His voice was gentle, and she longed to tell him everything. How it was too much, like he'd said. How she felt awful right now. But something in her refused to admit it. She'd always been brought up to do her best and not complain. So, instead of melting into his arms and dissolving into tears, the way she wanted to, she twisted her face into an approximation of a smile.

"Fine," she said brightly. "Listen, I felt like soup tonight. I hope you don't mind. I know I haven't been really doing my best on the dinner front lately." 

Mike looked a bit incredulous. "As if I care about that. I know we joke about being a 1950s couple, but I don't expect you to have dinner on the table every night for me. Look, sweetie. What's going on? You just seem off." He rubbed her shoulders, and she sighed, feeling the tears prick behind her eyes again.

"Nothing," she said, but her voice was softer. She knew Mike. He wouldn't push unless something was really obviously wrong, and she wasn't about to burst into tears in front of him. She knew his own caseload was insane right now, and he'd been up til 1 and 2 in the morning, his eyes darkly circled and his face as pale as hers was. They needed a vacation, though when Harvey or Louis would let that happen was anyone's guess. And she certainly couldn't take one in the middle of the semester, anyway. It'd have to wait til June.

He started serving the steaming soup while she picked up the pieces of his suit, strewn around the dine-in kitchen. Mike hated suits, and generally ended up in his suit pants and shirt sleeves for dinner. He usually wouldn't change until afterwards.

As she went into the bedroom to lay his clothing on his side of the bed, her bladder suddenly welled urgently, and she noticed a small leak. For the first time, Rachel was grateful for her maxi pad. Dashing to the bathroom, she ended up wetting the pad fairly significantly before she managed to sit on the toilet. This time, she did start to cry. What was wrong with her?

Rubbing her fists into her eyes, much like a five-year-old, she tried to get herself under control. It wasn't the end of the world. She just didn't notice she had to go that badly. It could happen to anyone. Her head ached worse with the tears, and now she could feel the scratchiness in the back of her throat developing into an ache. Fine, so she was sick. That was another reason. Adults wouldn't cry about it. Adults would simply change the wet pad and go and have dinner, calmly and without drama.

The rational side of her head won out over the hurt little girl side, and she quietly changed her pad and cleaned herself thoroughly before washing her hands and patting her cheeks dry. Her brown eyes still looked a little tired and weepy, but at least there was no redness on her cheeks yet. Running a hand through her dark-brown hair, she let out a shaky sigh before wandering back out into the kitchen.

Mike had cut up the baguette and placed it in a basket with some butter on the side on the table. The soup was delicious-smelling, hot and spicy, and Rachel suddenly realized she hadn't eaten since early that morning, having skipped lunch for a meeting. She grabbed the salad out of the fridge and sat down across from her boyfriend, smiling at him as he eagerly dug into his own soup.

"I'm glad you decided on this," he said. "I didn't get a chance to eat lunch today."

"Me, neither," she admitted, swirling her spoon in her soup. "I only really had a croissant this morning. I was so busy."

He frowned. "That's not good, Rach. You didn't eat lunch yesterday, either."

"Well, it's just because my classes are three in a row in the afternoon, so sometimes I just don't get a chance . . ." She trailed off to see him looking half in concern, half in annoyance at her. 

"It's nothing, Mike," she said, sounding snappier than she intended. "I usually don't have an issue. It's just busy sometimes. You can understand that."

He simply raised his eyebrows and continued to eat in silence. Rachel finished half her soup before he spoke again.

"Look, I thought maybe we could watch some Netflix tonight. Spend a little time together. I feel like I barely see you anymore."

For a split second, Rachel thought she was going to cry again with the sheer longing she felt at his words. She hadn't been able to spend time with Mike, beyond dinner, for weeks. And she was so tired and not feeling well . . .

Mike bent his head to try to catch her gaze. "Rach?"

She twisted her napkin in her lap and felt another small leak in her pants as she thought about how much work she still had to do tonight. The essay, looking over the financial statements for a client, proofreading her brief . . . her eyes welled up and this time she couldn't stop the tears from dropping onto her napkin before Mike saw.

"Oh, sweetie. Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" Mike got up and came over to her, kneeling beside her chair and taking her into his arms. "Something clearly is."

Rachel let herself be cuddled by her boyfriend for a moment before straightening up and pasting a smile back onto her face.

"I'm just tired. Why don't we finish dinner? I've got some work to do tonight, but you relax and I'll come and join you when I'm finished, okay?"

Mike just sighed, and Rachel pushed away from him gently, picking up her half-eaten bowl of soup to carry to the sink. She'd load the dishwasher later. It was Mike's job, but he invariably forgot or fell asleep on the couch before the night ended, and she usually just did it for him to cut down on arguments.

Mike looked at her sadly from his height of 6'1", and sighed. "Okay, sweetie. Don't work too hard."

Rachel turned to the sink, waiting until she heard his footsteps die out of the room, and turned on the water so that he wouldn't hear her start to cry.

She didn't know how to tell him. She didn't know how to deal with herself at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Mike flopped onto the couch and flipped on the TV. The day had been long, with Harvey up his ass almost constantly about a number of different briefs, and he was tired. He knew that part of it was that he didn't have time to exercise like he used to - he wasn't riding his bike as much, and he hadn't been able to go for a run very often due to the bad winter in New York and the amount of work on his plate. He used to go with Rachel, but between school and work, she didn't have time to do anything but write essays and sleep. 

Mike knew that there was something up with her. She was weepier than usual, and she wasn't eating, which was always a bad sign. He toyed with the idea of getting up and going into the kitchen to help her, but she tended to shoo him away when he did that because as she said, "You just get in the way, Mike. This is not a large kitchen. You are not a small man. I don't want to trip over you constantly when I'm just trying to clean up from dinner."

But he was worried. She wasn't sleeping well, either, from the way she tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before he would roll over and put his arms around her, cuddling her closely until she finally drifted off. A few nights, she'd simply gotten up and moved to the couch to sleep. He'd find her there in the morning, her hair streaming over the couch cushions, her thin blanket pulled right up to her chin, her mouth slightly open. He hated to wake her when she was like that. He hated to take away the little rest she seemed to be getting these days.

In the kitchen, he heard a few crashing sounds and then the sudden, discordant sound of a dish breaking on the tile floor. It was quickly followed by Rachel swearing, and then he heard her burst into tears.

Yeah. That was a really bad sign. Rachel almost never cried unless she was at her breaking point.

Heaving himself off the couch, he wandered into the kitchen to find her sitting on the floor, crying as if her heart would break. There was a small cut on her arm, and her hair was disheveled around her teary face.

"Oh, hey," murmured Mike, dropping down beside her. "It's okay. Shh. What happened?" He tried to gather her into his arms, but she held herself away from him, almost pushing him away. He was confused for a split second. That was very unlike Rachel. 

"Did you hurt yourself?" He tried to turn her arm towards him, but this time, she pushed him away more forcefully, and he sat back, shocked. "Rach, what's wrong?"

She just shook her head. "Please just leave, Mike. Please?" There was a note of desperation in her voice, and he just stared at her in complete confusion until she started to cry again. 

"I just want to be left alone, okay? Please?" 

Mike finally sighed, feeling hurt and upset all at once. "Okay, sweetie." He went to get up and then looked down. He suddenly realized why Rachel wanted him to go away. She was sitting in a large puddle.

At first, he thought she must have spilled something, though that wouldn't explain the tears. Then he realized that she must have wet her pants. 

Wait. Rachel wet her pants?

Sitting on the floor, her nose running, her face flushed and teary, and her hair curling around her cheeks, she had never looked less attractive, but his heart broke for her, anyway.

"Rachel . . . did you have an accident?" His voice stayed low, almost as if he was afraid of frightening her away. And she didn't answer him - just heaved a sigh and buried her face in her hands.

"Are you sick?" His voice sounded lame, even to him, but. She's a 30-year-old woman. Women her age don't pee their pants.

Rachel looked up at him. "I . . . Mike, please go away. Please?"

He ignored that, and stroked her hair back from her face. "It's okay. I'll help you clean up. How about you go to bed early tonight, and we'll set the alarm for really early, and you can finish your essay before class?"

Rachel burst into tears again. "You don't understand! I haven't even started yet, Mike, and I don't . . . I don't feel good, okay?" Her stammering, broken voice made his heart break even more. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, and this time, she let herself melt into his arms. He held her for a few moments, rocking her back and forth, murmuring soothing things into her ear.

"Shh. You're having a rough time, aren't you?" he asked her. She nodded into his shoulder, and he kissed her hair again. 

"Let's get you in the shower, anyway, okay?"

She nodded again, and let him lift her into his arms. Mike wasn't very strong, but Rachel weighed a lot less these days than she had before. Mike was almost surprised at how easy it was to lift her. She had never been fat, but she had been a lot more solid than she was now.

He looked down at the puddle on the floor and decided to deal with it after he got Rachel cleaned up. Carrying her into the bedroom, he helped her undress, pausing every so often to rub her shoulders and stroke her hair as her sniffling broke his heart.

Mike was a little surprised to see a maxi-pad in her sodden underpants as he helped her take them off, but whatever, maybe she was on her period or something. He usually didn't know anything about that unless he wanted to have sex and she couldn't because it was her time of the month. He didn't say anything as he tossed her clothing into the laundry basket, but she followed his gaze as he disposed of the pad and stammered to explain.

"It started a few months ago, I don't know why . . . I just started to, I don't know . . ."

Mike came over with a towel and wrapped her in it. "Shh. It's okay. Tell me after. Right now, just relax, okay? I've got you."

The shower felt good on his aching back and shoulders, and Rachel visibly relaxed for the first time all night as he gently cleaned her up and rubbed shampoo through her long black hair. She even started to cough, and he could hear crud building up in her lungs. So, she was sick. He smiled a little and tilted her chin up.

"You need to learn to let me help you when you're not feeling well, sweetheart."

She pouted. "How did you know?"

"Well," he said, smoothing lavender shower gel onto her body, "You're cranky, you didn't have much of an appetite, you're very tired, and now you're coughing. And, well, the accident. Though that's pretty new."

She didn't say anything, and he didn't push. He simply helped her rinse off, let her step out of the shower and into a towel, and then climbed back in to finish washing his own hair and body.

Afterwards, he towelled himself off and stepped into a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. He fished in her pajama drawer for some suitable pajamas, and found some soft and light cotton ones that he gave her for her birthday in the summertime. She smiled at his choice. 

"You don't think I'll get cold?"

"Will you?" He hadn't thought about that, but she shook her head, still smiling. He shrugged and helped her put them on, but she went into the bathroom before he could put her panties on for her and came out with another maxi-pad.

Mike, sitting on the bed, started to look confused again. "So, are you going to tell me what the problem is, or?"

Rachel pulled up her pajama pants and sat on the bed beside him, refusing to look him in the eye. He wrapped the throw that lived at the bottom of their bed around her shoulders and sat up against the headboard, pulling her into his arms. She smelled sweet, and she practically melted into his body, she was so tired.

"It started a few months ago, I guess. Just little leaks, I thought I wasn't paying enough attention to having to go or something. But it's been getting worse," she admitted, her voice starting to wobble. He rubbed her back.

"Did you have this problem when you were younger?"

"Sometimes. I wet the bed. So did you," she reminded him, and he rolled his eyes. "Most kids did at some point."

"So have you had any other accidents, or was this the first time?" He felt her shoulders stiffen, and he kissed her head. "It's okay, sweetie. I'm not judging you. I'm just trying to figure out if maybe we need to see the doctor or something."

"No other accidents," she murmured, and then coughed. He let her go and pulled down the covers on his side of the bed, helping her get underneath them. She was starting to feel warm, and he looked concerned.

"I'm going to get you some cold medicine, and then you're going to bed. No," he said, seeing her open her mouth. "You're going to get really sick if you don't get some sleep for once. You know that. You can write your essay in the morning, and I'll look at that brief you need to finish for Friday. Don't worry about it right now, okay?"

She curled up on her side, nodding, but looking sad. He went to the bathroom and found the cold medicine, and returned with it and a glass of water for her. She gulped it down painfully, and he kissed her hot cheek.

"Go to sleep. I love you."

She smiled. "You only love me for my money."

He grinned back. "Not just that."

"And my intelligence."

"And because you're very sweet, and caring, and have a big heart . . ." He watched her eyes close and flipped the light off, setting her phone's alarm for 6 AM.

Flopping down in front of the TV again, he furrowed his brow in concern. What was going on with Rachel?


	3. Chapter 3

The night wore on, the lights from the traffic outside moving over the ceiling of the apartment. Mike flipped through TV channels and looked at Rachel's brief, making notes on it as he did so and rewriting entire sections in other parts. Rachel slept peacefully in the bedroom; peacefully, that is, except for the spells of harsh coughing that broke the hum of the TV on low volume.

A few times, Mike had looked in on Rachel, especially after one particular bout of coughing that sounded very like Rachel was choking. She had woken a little then - not completely up, but enough to whimper and rub her eyes - and he'd sat beside her, rubbing her back and whispering into her soft black hair. It hadn't taken long to soothe her back down into sleep, though he could tell by her warm body against his that her fever was coming back.

Around midnight, Mike flipped off the TV and stretched the cricks out of his back, hearing it pop and shift with satisfaction. Maybe when Rachel was better, he'd get her to go to the gym with him. He needed to start exercising again, and maybe the exercise would take her mind off the stressors of law school and working for Harvey. He shed his pajama pants and tossed them halfheartedly towards the half-open closet, wandering into the bathroom to brush his teeth. His own face was tired, huge dark circles ringing his eyes and his hair messed up from constantly running his hands through it. They both could use a vacation, he thought ruefully.

Rachel lay on her side in a fetal position, one arm flung across the bed, the other tucked sweetly under her chin. Her thumb was slightly extended towards her mouth, which seemed to be a particular quirk of hers. Mike had never actually seen her suck her thumb, but he suspected she did when he wasn't around. He always looked upon that little action of hers with a bit of amusement and affection. He wouldn't mind if she wanted to suck her thumb. It was actually kind of cute to think about.

Gently turning back the covers so not to wake Rachel, he slipped smoothly and quietly into bed, turning on the beside lamp on his side of the bed so he could read some more of her brief before morning. He'd already done quite a bit of it, but he wanted to finish it for her. From the way her nose was whistling right now, he suspected that she wouldn't be in any shape to actually do any work at all when she woke up. She sounded as if she was cooking up quite a horrible cold, and he knew she'd likely be missing class in the morning. He decided to dissuade her from coming into Pearson Specter Litt in the afternoon, too. The entire office didn't need to catch what she had, and she could remote in from her laptop if she really needed to work. 

He also really worried that she'd pass out again, the way she had in the fall. 

Swinging his legs under the covers, he burrowed down beside Rachel and was about to turn to snuggle her into his arms when his bare leg brushed against a cold, wet patch in the bed. For a split second, his mind flashed back to his childhood, and he almost checked to make sure that he hadn't inadvertently wet the bed last night and just didn't notice when he got up that morning. But his side of the bed was completely dry. 

He straightened up on one elbow and looked down at his sleeping fiancee, sighing deeply. The sound of his heavy sigh and his breath over her head likely caused her to stir, but he didn't actually realize she was awake until she murmured and he found himself looking into her sleepy dark eyes, watching her blink in confusion.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," she whispered back, but winced. "Mm. Hurts." She began to cough, turning her face away from his, and he rubbed her back. 

"Oh, Rach." He kissed her forehead and wasn't surprised to feel her burning up. She grimaced and uncurled her hands to rub her eyes, then shifted in the bed. As soon as she did, though, her eyes widened and in the half-light, he saw her cheeks redden into a deep blush.

"I know, sweetie," he murmured. "You don't feel good. It's okay."

She didn't seem to understand him at first. "No, it isn't that," she whispered hoarsely, turning away from his touch. Then she turned back, her eyes a little desperate. "Mike, can you get me a glass of water?"

He was about to tell her that he already knew she had an accident, when he heard the tiniest crack in her voice and her tone changed, just the slightest bit. "Please?"

She knew he knew. He sighed. He was going to have to spell it out for her.

"I'll get you some water after we get you cleaned up, okay?" His voice was gentle, but her face crumpled, anyway.

"I just don't get why this keeps happening," she said, her lower lip pulling down and beginning to tremble. "I'm only thirty, Mike. Why do I keep doing this?" Her voice broke, then, and she began to sob, her lungs catching with a congested sound. Mike tsked under his tongue in sympathy and pulled her close to him.

"I don't know why, either, Rachel. I think maybe you're just really stressed out," he said in a soothing voice. "I think we could probably see the doctor, figure out what's happening. You might need to go anyway, with this cold." He kissed her soft hair and she shivered a little, burrowing more deeply into his chest. 

"I don't want to do this anymore," she whispered, and he nodded. 

"I know, sweetheart." He straightened up then and gently detached her from his shirt. "Right now, though, you can't lie there when you're wet. The bed needs to be changed and you need to change into dry clothes."

She nodded and rubbed a fist across her eyes, much as a little girl would. "Mike, I don't . . . I mean, I can't . . ." She trailed off, then looked him in the eyes. "I don't think that the pads are working. And I don't know if I'm going to do this again tonight, or tomorrow."

"Well, I was coming to that," Mike said, looking her in the eyes. "I know you don't want to do this, and I don't blame you - I didn't either when Grammy made me when I was a teenager. But I think maybe just for now, until we figure this out and you start feeling better, maybe we should get some heavier protection."

She smiled faintly at his careful skirting of the word. "You mean diapers, Mike. Say it. We should get some diapers."

"Well, I didn't expect to have this conversation until after we were married and you were pregnant," he quipped, but she didn't smile, and he put a hand on her cheek instead. "Oh, sweetheart. I think it's a temporary thing, okay? You're not feeling well, either," he reminded her, and she sighed, her chest sounding a little rattly.

"Fine. Diapers. Like I'm two," she said bitterly, but he tipped her chin up. 

"No, like we have a problem that we're fixing right now, like adults," he replied, and she smiled that sardonic little smile again. 

"Okay then, Mr. Optimist."

She slipped out of bed and now it was obvious that she'd wet the bed. Her thin cotton pajamas clung to her body and there were dark wet patches on her bottom and down both of her legs. Rachel started to shiver violently as she headed towards the bathroom, and Mike followed her to help her get into the shower for the second time that night. This time, she went in by herself, and only washed her lower parts, trying not to get her hair wet again. Mike hunted for some flannel pajamas, but none were clean. He got a soft sweatshirt of hers from the closet, instead, and hoped she'd be all right with bare legs as long as they were covered.

Rachel laughed as she stepped out of the shower and saw what he'd laid out for her to wear, but the laugh turned into a cough and she had to stand for a moment, trying to get her breath back. "What is this?"

"I couldn't find you any clean, warm pajamas," Mike replied lamely, and she chuckled again, wincing at how it hurt her head and chest. 

"Mike, I can wear a T-shirt and yoga pants. It's fine."

He hadn't thought of that, and blushed as she took a pair of soft grey yoga pants and a long grey T-shirt out of her dresser drawer. He picked up his PJ pants and slipped them back on, then reached for his wallet on his own dresser, shrugging into a hoodie. She watched him from the doorway of the bedroom as he went to the front door and slipped on an old pair of running shoes.

"I'll be right back," he said, and her lower lip started to quiver again. Mike's heart twisted and he came back to her, wrapping her in his arms. 

"You'll feel better once it's on," he murmured into her hair. "I promise. I know."

She nodded against him. "I'm too old for this," she said, a faint protest, but he knew she was ready to give in. He kissed her and then turned to go down to the pharmacy below the apartment, which was open 24 hours. "I'll be right back, okay?"

She nodded and then sneezed, and he made a mental note to get her stronger cold meds, too. The pharmacy was a few doors down from the bodega, and they'd rarely used it, but Mike was grateful for it tonight as he hurried down through the cold spring air.

Buying diapers was one of the weirder things Mike had done in his life, but he tried to play it cool as the dead-eyed sales clerk rang him up without even really looking at him. He'd used to order them online, or Grammy would buy them for him. He tried to picture Grammy buying the diapers now, and had to laugh at his memory of her matter-of-fact voice and manner. She wouldn't have cared, and really, he didn't either. He just wanted Rachel to feel better.

When he arrived, cold and breathless back in the apartment, he expected to see Rachel waiting for him on the couch or in the kitchen. Instead, he found her lying in bed, her face flushed and sounding congested, and he quickly took the cold medicine out of the plastic bag. 

"Rach, here," he said, and handed her two pills. She sat up and took them, swallowing them down painfully with a swig of water he brought her from the fridge. "Ow," she whimpered, and he kissed her forehead.

"They'll start working soon," he promised, and she nodded. They both were sort of avoiding the diapers, sitting beside Rachel on the bed, but eventually Mike turned to them and smiled wryly. "Let's go to bed, yeah?"

She grimaced but reached over and pulled the bag open. The diapers lay, pristine and folded, their cottony whiteness appearing above the rip in the bag. Rachel reached out and pulled one out, looking surprised as it crinkled in her hand. She got up and stood awkwardly, eventually slowly pulling down her grey yoga pants, but looking completely bewildered.

Mike came over and rubbed her shoulders. "Do you want some help?"

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and then flushed even deeper than before. Mike kissed her hot cheek. "Lie down, okay?"

Rachel lay on the bed and he gently removed her yoga pants all the way. Immediately he could see that the diapers were a good idea - the pants were already a little damp, even though she'd only put them on half an hour ago. 

"You're a little wet, sweetie. Should I find another pair of pants?" he asked her, and she just turned her face into the comforter piled beside her. He rubbed her stomach soothingly, and after getting her to raise her hips (she still wouldn't look at him, crossing her hands over her face), he taped her into the diaper and put on a fresh pair of grey yoga pants he found in her drawer.

She was almost comically adorable. The tightness of the pants showed off the outline of her diaper sweetly, and she looked about three years old. Every time she moved, her diaper would crinkle softly. She also looked more visibly relaxed as she quietly moved up to the pillow and curled into a fetal position.

"Feel better?" he whispered to her, and she nodded, turning over so that she could curl up against his chest. Her fever had gone down again, and her eyes closed in exhaustion.

Mike finally closed his eyes, too.


	4. Chapter 4

The house was quiet when Rachel woke up, a shaft of watery light from the crack in the closed curtains falling across the bed. Beside her, Mike slept, sprawled onto his back, his arms and legs flung every which way. His face was smooth in the dim, filtered light, and he breathed evenly, tiredly. Rachel looked at the clock. It was just after 5 AM.

She was hot and uncomfortable, her throat hurting and her back sweaty from her fever and being under the covers. She coughed, her voice harsh in the silence, and Mike murmured and turned over onto his side. Rachel felt sick, but she also just felt uncomfortable. Too hot, too bundled up. Flinging her legs out from under the covers, she was surprised to hear a loud crinkle as she moved - and then she remembered.

The accident last night. The diapers Mike had bought her. The fact that she now wet the bed like a baby, like she did when she was five years old.

Rachel's face crumpled up in shame and she turned her face into her pillow, hiding in the soft musty-smelling pillow. She was thirty years old, for God's sake. She was handling the workload of a Pearson Specter Litt associate and going to law school almost full-time. She couldn't afford to have these issues, but what's more, she couldn't afford to have to take time off for medical care, either. There was no hope of a dentist appointment in the next few months, let alone having to have surgery or something for her misbehaving bladder.

As if on cue, she felt a sudden, strong urge and then a warm trickle. She pushed her face into her pillow even harder, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that wetting a diaper was different than wetting her pants. The diaper simply became warm and almost comforting. Curiously, and hoping Mike wasn't awake to see, Rachel pushed an inquisitive hand between her legs and felt the squishy warmth of the diaper expand under her touch as she wet. It felt oddly comfortable - and safe.

Rolling onto her back, Rachel felt an unbearable urge to suck her thumb. She hadn't indulged in that habit since she'd joined the firm five years ago, but she found herself lately returning to sucking her thumb in order to relax and fall asleep when Mike was out of the room. Curling up on her side, rhythmically sucking and feeling her body relax, Rachel had found her cares slipping away. And though she was sick - very sick, from the body heat warming her sheets so uncomfortably - she found herself ignoring the scratchy, gaggy throat and the runny nose in order to suck her thumb again, at least for a little while.

And despite her wet diaper, which she didn't know how she felt about yet, Rachel fell asleep, her thumb plugged firmly into her mouth.

//~//

Mike woke up two hours later, feeling like sand was in his eyes. His alarm hadn't gone off yet, but he could feel Rachel's hot body pressed against his side and he was starting to get sweaty. Rolling over carefully, he placed a gentle hand on her forehead. She was burning up, and clearly uncomfortable. She was starting to whimper and toss a bit in her sleep. He softly smoothed her hair from her sweaty forehead and she opened her dark eyes and regarded him for a moment before her lower lip began to tremble and tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Mike was a little alarmed. "Oh, Rach. It's okay, sweetie."

Rachel nuzzled forward into his chest and he rubbed her back for a moment. He hadn't seen her like this since before she had gotten into law school. She hadn't been sick since then, either, and he realized she must be feeling terrible.

Stretching and trying to shake the feeling of fuzziness from his brain, he stroked her hair. "I'll get you some medicine and how about some tea?"

She nodded but seemed reluctant to let him go. She shifted slightly in the bed and he heard the sound of her diaper crinkling, and he smiled a bit. The sound was so adorable, and her snuggly behaviour wasn't helping the image he was forming of her. He wondered briefly how she must have been when she was really little. He imagined that she would have had the same pout she was showcasing right now. Then it suddenly hit him. She was probably wet.

Mike didn't want to just ask Rachel if she was wet. He had always hated Grammy coming in every morning and asking bluntly if he'd wet his pants the night before. He understood why she'd done it, but it was still embarrassing. But Rachel, usually his very competent and mature fiance, was pressed into his chest much like a tiny toddler girl and he wondered if it would just be easier if he did take charge.

So, he kissed her hair and asked, anyway. "Rach, do you need a fresh diaper?"

She froze at his words and hid her face back into his T-shirt. He could feel her blush right through the cloth, and he smiled a little, partly in sympathy and partly because she was just so cute. He cuddled her a little more closely and said gently, "Because it's not good for you to sit in wet pants. You'll get a rash, sweetheart, and it won't make you feel better." 

Rachel didn't move, though he felt some wetness on his shirt that indicated that she was maybe too teary and embarrassed to do anything but hide right now. He quietly and slowly checked her pants. The diaper felt pillowy as he patted her bottom gently. He had worn diapers enough in his lifetime to know the difference between a light and cottony dry diaper and a heavy, squishy wet one. Rachel's was the latter - she was definitely very wet, probably close to leaking, and he hadn't had a chance to throw the sheets from last night and all of her wet pants into the washer yet.

She squirmed a little as he checked her diaper, but didn't move. When he detached her carefully, she wouldn't look at him, but he rubbed her back and told her that it was time to change her diaper, anyway. She flushed a deep, dusky red, but obediently let go of him and lay down on the bed, pushing her sheets down around her legs. 

Changing the diaper of his fiancee again ranked up there as one of the weirdest things Mike had ever done, he thought as he carefully took down her thankfully-still-dry yoga pants and exposed her heavy wet diaper. But she was so good, raising her hips before he asked and lying completely still as he taped her into a fresh garment. She had made a noise of protest when he'd gotten a fresh diaper out, but Mike had shaken his head firmly.

"Nope, Rach. I have enough laundry to do today and I just don't think you feel well enough to make sure you're always getting to the bathroom on time, hey?" 

Rachel had flushed and looked indignant, but as soon as he got the fresh diaper on it, her eyes welled up and she started biting the nail of her thumb. Mike had been confused for a moment until he'd realized that the diaper was growing warm under his hand. 

"Shh, it's okay," he soothed. "But definitely yes to diapers today."

She hadn't argued after that. 

What she had done, he noticed in amusement, was slip her thumb sweetly into her mouth and begin to suck. Lying there in her fresh white diaper, the gentle sound of her mouth on her thumb, Mike thought he'd never seen her look more adorable, and after disposing of the two wet diapers and washing his hands, he couldn't resist pulling her into his arms and snuggling her securely for awhile.

Mike did have to get to work, but he'd texted Harvey before bed last night and let him know he'd be late because Rachel was sick. But he wasn't comfortable leaving her now, when she seemed so little and vulnerable, her cough sounding dry and harsh and her fever as high as it was. After taking her temperature using a baby ear thermometer he had picked up the night before, he'd thought 102 degrees F was a little high to be leaving her on her own today. He decided to work from home - despite Harvey's wrath tomorrow - and after tapping a message out on his phone, he settled back into bed with his feverish, sick fiancee.

After some cold medicine, she fell asleep again, and Mike decided to get up and get some work done. He was reasonably sure she'd at least try to drink some juice, and he was going to try to make a smoothie for her to get some vitamins and nutrients into her. Fiddling in the kitchen without Rachel peering over his shoulder five million times was rather relaxing. Maybe he should take up cooking, he thought as he took out some fruits and veggies and followed a recipe in Rachel's smoothie recipe folder. Like everything else in her life, the recipes were carefully organized in a fancy file holder on the granite counter top. It certainly did make things easier, even if she was a little anal.

He decided to wait to blend it until she'd had more than half an hour to sleep. Leaving the ingredients out in the kitchen, he worked hard for two hours on a new case, chatting quietly on the phone with Harvey and one of the other associates, until he heard Rachel getting whimpery from the bedroom again. He ended the call and tiptoed back in to see her tossing uncomfortably in the bed, coughing and rubbing her eyes.

She opened them as he walked into the room and pouted. "Mike," she croaked, her voice sounding painful. "I'm so thirsty. And . . ." she trailed off, but he knew what she wanted to say. She was wet again. He could tell by the way she was self-consciously holding the crotch of her yoga pants under the covers.

He smoothed her hair away from her forehead, and she leaned into the touch of his cool hand. "I'm going to make you something to drink, babe," he reassured her, and rubbed her tummy soothingly. "We'll change your pants, too, okay?"

"I'm sorry," she suddenly said, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry, Mike . . ." Her words devolved into sobs and he sat beside her, taking her limp, warm body into his arms and rocking her back and forth.

"Don't be sorry," he whispered to her. "I'm not sorry I get to take care of you. I love taking care of you."

"It's ridiculous that this keeps happening," she whispered, and he nodded, but then smiled down at her. 

"It's okay. You're safe and sound with me. I don't mind keeping you clean and dry and warm. I love you."

She smiled tentatively back through her tears, and he kissed the top of her nose, which made her giggle. He changed her wet diaper with minimal blushing and hiding from Rachel, and then washed his hands and walked into the kitchen to make her smoothie.

But there was a problem - she wouldn't drink it.

"Mike, it hurts," she whimpered, turning away from the straw cup he served it in. "I can't drink that."

"It's going to make you feel better," he said, "and besides, you need to eat something, sweetie. This has a lot of vitamins and nutrients in it. You're run down. It's why you're sick, and you barely eat as it is."

"I don't care," she said petulantly. "I don't want to drink it."

Mike sighed, and Rachel pouted, knowing she was being ridiculous, but too sick to care. "Mike, I really want some milk, or something."

Mike looked up at that. "Well, we can get you some milk . . . what about an Ensure shake or something? That would be something that would fill you up and get you some good stuff . . . " He trailed off as he saw her shake her head firmly and turn to the side. 

"Too hard to drink and I'm too tired," she whined, and then he realized what likely would work. Mike realized, though, that Rachel would probably never go for it. She was having a hard enough time with diapers. If he introduced a bottle, he had no idea what she would do.

"Honey, I'm going to go down to the pharmacy and pick up a few things," he said instead, pulling on some jeans and his sneakers. "We need some more cold medicine."

"Okay," she murmured, turning over, her clean diaper audible as she snuggled back down into the covers. "I'm going to take a nap."

The fresh air felt good on Mike's face as he jogged the few steps to the pharmacy below the apartment. He opened the door of the store and made a beeline for the baby section. He knew exactly what he wanted to get.

Ten minutes later, a package of pacifiers, two bottles, and a few Ensure shakes sat on the cash belt. The same clerk from the night before was still there, and if she recognized Mike, she didn't say so. Mike paid and quietly let himself back into the apartment a few minutes later. Rachel was asleep - it was the perfect time to get ready.

Washing the bottles thoroughly, he quietly poured a chocolate shake into one of them and slipped it into the fridge. He also washed the pacifiers, in case Rachel was interested in sucking on something else besides her thumb. When he heard her start to cough, he quietly went in and rubbed her back until she was fully awake.

"I got you a shake," he said, and watched her face scrunch up in protest. "But I also got you something that I think will make it easier to drink it." He left and got the bottle from the fridge, bringing it back into the bedroom and nervously watching Rachel's reaction.

Rachel's face was a study. She looked simultaneously confused, a little angry, a little curious, and also like she wanted the bottle in his hand. She didn't say anything, but simply waited for an explanation.

"I thought it'd help you," Mike said lamely, and Rachel started to laugh a little bit, her laugh punctuated by coughing. 

"You thought the diapers weren't bad enough?"

"I just think," said Mike, trying for calm and firm, "that if you had a bottle, you'd be more likely to take more of the food in and get better faster. And since you seem to be seeking a lot of comfort," - and here Rachel's face flushed - "I thought it may also help with that."

Rachel opened her mouth as if to rebut his statements, but then simply closed it and lay back against the pillows. "Fine."

He handed her the bottle and she sucked experimentally at it, but then grimaced and handed it back to him. "I don't like it."

"We're not doing it right, that's why," he muttered, and settled beside her. "It's supposed to go like this."

He gently lifted her until she lay in his arms, her head cradled against his upper arm and shoulder, and her body comfortably slumped across his chest, her legs splayed down under the covers. He slipped the nipple of the bottle into her mouth, then, and watched her face change as she took in the cool, sweet liquid. She completely relaxed, her eyes closing, the sucking on the bottle punctuated by occasional sniffles as she learned how to sync sucking and breathing again.

"It's supposed to go like that," he said, softly, as he watched her dark eyes flutter closed.

She smiled around the nipple and snuggled closer against Mike. She liked that.


End file.
